


Ruled By Secrecy

by tenlittlecock_bites



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AGENT FLORIDA - Freeform, Agent Maine - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biker AU, Butch Flowers - Freeform, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Frank "Doc" DuFresne - Freeform, Franklin Delano Donut - Freeform, M/M, Not the meta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8495272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenlittlecock_bites/pseuds/tenlittlecock_bites
Summary: During the illegal street races that plagued the streets of Los Santos, there was nothing but you, the road ahead and, if you're one of the vastly unlucky ones, O'Malley.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satan (CherryBones)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryBones/gifts).



> So this is an au a friend [Izzy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryBones/pseuds/Satan) and I have been discussing on and off for probably like a year now tbh and I had the random motivation to start actually writing one of the many, many versions of it we've concocted over the months.
> 
> Also putting more doc/Maine content out into the world #rarepairprobs

The alleyway outside the bar was quiet, the only sounds around being the buzzing from the red neon sign declaring that this place was, in fact, a bar and the sound of traffic off in the distance, presumably from the highway. The calming silence was broken occasionally, though, by the door to the seedy bar opening, light, music, and the buzz of conversation spilling out into the empty street before the door was closing again, the silence returning as the drunken conversations from departing patrons faded away.

 

From the street, a silhouette could be seen leaning against the wall near the side door to what was, presumably, the kitchen, only the glow from the cherry of a burning cigarette flaring up now and again as the mysterious figure took a slow drag, the searing red fading down to orange as they exhaled a cloud of smoke that also glowed red with the light of the bar sign.

 

The shadow stepped off the wall as it heard footsteps coming near them, flicking the remains of their cigarette into the ground, stomping out the still burning butt with a heavy, black motorcycle boot, a single stripe of purple going down the side.

 

As the footsteps grew nearer, the figure pulled a black scarf up over their face, leaving only a pair of rather doe-like brown eyes and the freckled skin of the bridge of their nose visible, all other features hidden under black motorcycle gear, a simple helmet with a similar purple stripe to their boots under one arm, hood pulled up over their head.

 

“Are you O’Malley?”

 

“Who's asking?” A voice sounded from behind the scarf, slightly distorted with a sort of growl to it. Voice modification.

 

The two figures finally stepped into the light, the black-clad O’Malley standing several inches shorter than the other man, dressed simply in a leather jacket over a dark shirt and jeans, a long braid of dark hair running down his back.

 

“I need a job done.” The man with the braid continued, “But I need it to be discreet.”

 

“If you're looking for discreet, you've come to the wrong place.” O’Malley replied cooly, eyes practically burning through the other man's head.

 

“You can blow up as much shit as you want I don't care. The only thing I care about is keeping my name out of the aftermath.” He replied just as cold, meeting O’Malley’s glare with one of his own, the action making something like respect show in those sharp brown eyes.

 

“Name your price and give me the details, and I'll think about it.” O'Malley said, reaching into his pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes, holding it out as an offer to the stranger.

 

\---

 

Florida sighed heavily as he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, most likely smearing oil across his skin, his other arm elbow deep in the engine of some beat up junker car someone brought to him in the hope that he would be able to fix it.

 

“Donut, do me a favor and fix my hair, would you?” He asked, directing the request to a pale blonde perched on his workbench, dressed in a soft pink tank top of cutoff jean shorts despite the rain pouring down outside the open garage door.

 

“This is the earliest I've ever had to hold your hair back.” The blonde, Donut, teased as he hopped off the workbench, practically slinking over to the car behind Florida to start pulling back his long, dark hair, returning it to its original braid as Florida continued to work.

 

“Hey, watch it.” Florida warned.

 

“Or what? You'll gag me?” Donut replied with a grin, finishing off the braid before returning to his spot on the workbench as Florida tried to repress the blush threatening to color his cheeks.

 

Finally giving up on the car, Florida straightened up from the rusted hunk of junk, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands off on just as he heard faint splashing from the puddles gathering outside the garage. When he stepped around the open hood of the car, there was a small figure standing just under the awning protecting all of three feet in front of the garage from water.

 

The stranger was small, that much was sure, shorter even than Donut and looking like he weighed about 100 pounds soaking wet, which he was in that moment, too big sweater hanging heavy on his shivering frame, dark curls plastered to his forehead.

 

“Are you lost?” Donut asked while Florida continued to stare like an idiot, his voice kind as the stranger fixed the blonde with a nervous doe-eyed look from big brown eyes.

 

Florida recognized those eyes for a moment, before mentally shaking himself. There was no way that this adorable thing in his garage hopelessly trying to wipe his water spotted glasses with the sleeve of his soaking wet sweater could be the infamous O’Malley.

 

“M-my car broke d-down a couple blocks aw-way.” He stammered through chattering teeth, shoving his glasses back into his face, the round, golden frames making his eyes appear even bigger, “I-I didn't know what else to d-do.”

 

“It's alright, we have a tow truck.” Donut assured the shivering figure, leading him inside as Florida followed hopelessly behind, “I'll get you warmed up here and into something dry and Florida and Maine will go get your car and bring it here, ok?”

 

Donut’s soothing words and the promise of warm, dry clothes seemed to placate the stranger, and he nodded with a smile, following Donut into the office area of the shop, Donut tossing Florida a set of keys before shutting the door.


End file.
